


The Present

by Caladenia



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Birthday, Episode: s04e08 Year of Hell, F/M, Facial Shaving, Fluffy Angst, Kind of canon-compliant, Year of Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 05:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21131078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caladenia/pseuds/Caladenia
Summary: “Let me help,” she said to his reflection.At the end of another long day fighting the Krenim, Chakotay gets an apology.





	The Present

* * *

“Chakotay?”

So intent was he on keeping a firm handle on the razor, he startled and nicked himself. _Shit._

Between the whining noises the ship made and the door chime out of order, he hadn’t heard her coming. He must have voiced his irritation aloud because she stood in the doorway, looking concerned. “Did you hurt yourself?”

_What do you think, Kathryn?_ He had been in a foul mood the whole day, and the main reason why strode in his bathroom.

“Let me take care of this. Where’s your dermal regenerator?” She was already rummaging among the shelves, taking charge as usual.

“It’s not necessary. It’s only a cut.”

Three Chakotays looked back at him from the broken mirror, with dark moustaches, four-day-old stubble, and a thin red line on the cheek. He was hot, itchy, and would much prefer to see Kathryn gone. Was it too much to ask to have some time to himself after another long shift? Tuvok was doing great since losing his sight, but he couldn’t do everything, and Chakotay’s days had grown that much harder ever since.

Perhaps there was something urgent she wanted him to know about, and that’s why she’d sought him out. He hoped it wasn’t another crewman arguing about their sleeping arrangements.

“Here it is,” she said, brandishing the medical tool. A couple of passes and the small wound disappeared as if it had never existed. She put the regenerator away and picked up the razor, testing the blade against the pad of her thumb. “This should be classified as a lethal weapon and kept under lock and key.”

“I gave my Starfleet shaver away. Didn’t want to waste energy on non-essentials,” Chakotay said, throwing back at her the words she had used when he had offered her a replicated pocket watch as a birthday present.

_I can't keep this. Recycle it.  
_

_That watch represents a meal, a hypospray, or a pair of boots. It could mean the difference between life and death one day._

It hurt that she had not brought herself to accept his gift, and her insinuation he'd been profligate with _Voyager_’s resources had upset him even more.

She closed the razor, but didn’t give it back to him. “I want to apologise for this morning.” Lifting her chin, she turned to face him. “When you presented me with the watch. Your gift was beautiful, and I was insensitive and rude to you for no good reasons.”

Her earnestness punctured his mood like a sharpened blade, and his anger evaporated. She’d refused his gift because of a ship falling apart around her, a worn-out and irritable crew, and a first officer offering an impractical object when a hyperspanner would have been more useful. His petty reaction at her rebuttal had been unwarranted and childish, and he felt a flush of embarrassment warming his cheeks.

“Most of all I wanted to thank you for the thought behind it,” she added with a tired smile, her eyes sliding to the mirror.

“Apology accepted,” he said with a smile of his own, though he couldn’t bring himself to agree that a small replicated watch would one day save a life. It was a mere symbol of good old grit and determination, and he didn’t want her to read more into it.

But he could now see how a gift which marked the inexorable passing of time, and the story of a derelict raft that had scarcely made it home might not have been his best inspiration, given _Voyager_’s current situation. Should he tell her he had defied her order and the watch now laid on a shelf in the room she’d just walked through? No, no point.

“I’ll go on with my shaving, then,” he said in a more gentle voice, his hand opened.

They were now both facing the mirror, and a tentative smirk appeared in the wrong corner of her mouth. “I have to say, it’s not your best look.”

It was good to hear her humour. He put the palm of his hand to his jaw, feeling the coarseness of the hairs. “Some illustrious first officers have worn beards, if you must know. I thought of starting that fashion again.”

This time, her smile was less guarded. “Illustrious, maybe. Fashionable? I hope not. I would find it very distracting to stand among all those bearded men on the bridge.”

“Just as well I can’t stand it anymore either. Time for me to get it off.”

He expected her to leave him, but she surprised him for the second time in less than five minutes.

“Let me help,” she said to his reflection. There were now three of her, cracked and ragged at the edges, next to the three of him. “It’s the least I can do.”

He noticed the grime on her cheeks, her tousled hair, the dirty grey undershirt beneath the open uniform jacket, the scratches on her hands. She’d most probably been checking on the ship and helping with repairs well before he'd started the day. The state of her uniform also told him she had not taken the time to go to her quarters before bursting into his, her mind full of apologies when none was required. But he knew that it wouldn’t do any good to tell her of his concerns.

“Are you sure?” he said, still scratching his chin. “It’s a delicate operation, and you’ve only got one first officer.”

She waved her hand in the air, an exaggerated gesture in the small space. “Don’t worry about that. Plenty of senior officers to replace you.”

When he didn’t answer straight away, she dropped her eyes, and her smile faltered. “That wasn’t funny. We’ve lost enough people already, and there’ve been too many close calls.” She put the razor on the side of the basin before turning away, not looking at him. “I am sorry once again for my behaviour this morning. I’ll leave you alone now.”

He put his hand on her arm. “Kathryn.” She was rocking on the balls of her feet, ready to disappear in her quarters, or more likely return to Engineering or the Astrophysics lab to find a way out of _Voyager_'s predicament. “It’s been a long time since I’ve shaved myself the traditional way. I could do with the help.”

Her taut shoulders loosened. “Sometimes, the old ways are the best.” She quickly scanned the shelf under the mirror as if afraid he would change his mind if she did not start immediately. “No shaving cream?”

“I had a hot shower, and there’s a bowl of oil warming up in the basin.”

She glanced at the shower cubicle, biting at her lower lip before peering at the small dish. “Warm oil?”

“It's a Vulcan thing,” he said, letting her arm go. “Tuvok gave it to me with the razor.”

“It will have to do then. So, let’s see what we’ve got.” She extended her fingers. “Razor?”

“Check,” he said, placing the handle in her palm.

“Towel?”

“Check.”

He sat on the stool, and she tucked the towel around his neck, before dipping her fingers in the bowl. She asked his permission with a silent look. At his nod, she moved behind him and started massaging the oil into his stubble. He was glad the towel masked the goose bumps that ran down the back of his neck at the close contact.

After wiping the excess oil off her hands, she stood to his side, and put her fingers to his temple, stretching the skin upwards with her thumb. “Did you know the correct angle of the head is essential for a good shave?”

“I’ll trust you on that.” He tilted his head, letting the feel of Kathryn’s touch wash over him. The warm fingers pressing against his face, the slight rasping sound of the cold blade and the confident strokes gliding over his skin felt remarkably soothing.

“Are you falling asleep on me, Commander?”

He fought to keep his eyes open. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

“Good.” She cleaned the blade on the towel, smearing oil and dark hairs on it.

“Handling a straight razor wasn’t part of the Academy curriculum when I was a cadet,” he ventured as she started on his other cheek.

“You must have missed that lecture. Shaving Your First Officer, by Captain Picard,” she deadpanned. She held the razor away from his face as he very nearly fell over with laughter. “Careful there, Chakotay,” she said in a mock tone.

“Sorry.” He sat back, still grinning. He’d never met Captain Picard, but he very much doubted that the renown Starfleet captain would have attended to his first officer’s personal grooming whatever the circumstances. Too intimate an act, and yet, there he was, enjoying the rare moment with his own captain, the barriers of rank and duty set aside for a little while.

“My grand-uncle taught me,” she said, easing the lobe of his right ear out of the way. “He had some rather unconventional ideas on girls’ education.”

Chakotay chuckled. “An interesting character. I would have liked to meet him.”

“If you continue smiling, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.” She stilled, as if she’d said something she regretted. “I mean…” She bent over again, frowning. “Never mind.”

He had not missed the tip of her tongue passing through her slightly parted lips, and the slight hesitation of her hand against his skin when she changed position. But he forced his smile down. Despite the informal setting, this was hardly the occasion to step out of their respective roles. It had been two months of hell, and he was not yet convinced that they’d seen the end of their ordeal. The temporal shields might not last, and what had happened to the Krenim Imperium was still a mystery._ Voyager_ needed their command team sharp and ready. He wouldn’t be of any use to the crew and ship if he couldn’t stay exactly where she expected him to be—close, but not too close.

She didn’t want a watch anymore than she wanted a stolen kiss in the turbolift or a quick romp between bed sheets. What she needed was somebody strong to lean on when doubting herself, to touch when bereft, and yet who would not break her trust. Being there at her side, always present; that was the best gift he could offer her.

Lifting the tip of his nose, she removed his moustache with small strokes. He was not sorry to see the unfamiliar trim go. It sure had stung when caught in the lid of an energy drink can from the emergency ration store.

Kathryn's eyes were focused on the task. That left him plenty of time to look at her up close. Fatigue and dirt competed to emphasise new lines on her forehead and around her eyes and mouth, lines which had grown deeper the longer they stayed in Krenim space. Although, if he was honest with himself, he knew the source of those lines were not just from a relentless enemy. He wished he could erase the events of the past year as quickly and efficiently as his beard—their fight over the Borg, losing Kes, the torture inflicted by the Srivani not three months before, Tuvok’s injuries. Those trials had left invisible scars on the two of them, stretching their resolution and fortitude, and their relationship.

“What?” she asked, catching his glance.

“Nothing.” He angled his head to leave her better access to his neck. The blade glided upwards this time, first one side, then the other, until only one long dark line remained, right in the middle.

She lowered herself on her knees, her back to the basin, a bead of perspiration poised on her temple. It was hot in the bathroom, as it was everywhere on the upper decks. The environmental controls were still stuck on high despite B’Elanna’s best efforts. Or that was what Chakotay told himself as he moved forward on his seat, trying hard not to think about the sight of Kathryn Janeway kneeling between his legs.

Her finger pushed his jaw up. “This is the tricky part.” The blade rested on his throat for a split second, then glided over his Adam’s apple and slid past his chin in one assured movement. “Now, that’s better,” she said, and much too soon she was wiping his lower face with the towel. “There. You’re as good as new, Chakotay.” She busied herself, putting the lid back on the bowl of oil and rinsing the razor before patting it dry.

His fingers skated over the smooth skin. Her offer to shave him had been a welcome surprise he had to admit. He almost asked what he could do for her in exchange, but she would just say she was fine.

Instead, he stood and put the towel in the recycler. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss what needs to be done tomorrow, now that the temporal shielding is working. I’ll go and get some emergency rations from Neelix, and we can eat here while we talk.”

She nodded wearily. He felt bad for the ruse, but he knew an appeal to duty would make her stay put. He turned back as if the idea had just come to him. “While I’m gone, why don’t you use my shower to save a bit of time? Towels are in the drawer.”

Her longing glance at the shower had not escaped him. According to B'Elanna, his was the only one on deck three still working. “I’ll check where Engineering is at with the environmental controls before going to the mess hall. Give me twenty minutes,” he added as he left the bathroom.

⁂

The trip had been a fine balance in timing. If he lingered too long in the mess hall, Kathryn would probably leave his quarters without a proper meal and go from one errand to another well into the night. He blew out a sigh. It was silly, he knew. The ship had more problems than the exhausted crew could address and there he was, playing hide and seek outside his own door, worried whether his captain had finished her shower.

Holding the ration packs in one hand, he entered the code to his door. Kathryn was nowhere to be seen, and he couldn’t hear the droning of water. Getting concerned, he put the bag on the lounge table, and made for the bedroom. A pair of black trousers, a short-sleeved grey shirt and a clean uniform jacket laid on the bed, with a plain white pair of undies and a bra poking underneath.

He tugged at his ear lobe, a grin forming on his lips before he retreated to the lounge, making a lot more noise than was strictly necessary, as if he had just arrived.

Muffled sounds soon emerged from behind the bedroom door. He focused on reading the same couple of sentences on his PADD until two naked feet and the lower edge of a pair of trousers walked into his field of vision. Not lifting his eyes, he waved at the ration packs.

“Wasn’t sure which one you preferred. I got dehydrated lentil dahl with chicken, and vacuum-packed beef in red wine.”

“Red wine?” She sat opposite him, threading her fingers through her wet hair, a towel draped over her undershirt. She had done a good job getting rid of the grime, but dark half-circles remained under her eyes.

“That’s what it says on the pack.” He still mourned the loss of her long hair, the memory of brushing her heavy locks haunting his evenings since New Earth. It was another luxury she must have thought she could no longer afford.

“I’ll have the beef if it’s okay with you,” she said.

Once the lids opened, steam came out as the packs automatically heated the contents. They settled to eat, talking about what the next days would bring. Kathryn was fascinated by the sudden reversal of the Krenim Imperium. “It looks like their entire civilisation has been pushed back in time and into a much earlier version of their colonisation history,” she noted.

“That worries me,” Chakotay said. “Maybe they can undo it all over again, and we’ll soon be facing a much bigger threat.”

“We need more information. Getting the Astrometrics lab back online is tomorrow’s main priority,” she said.

Despite the tasteless meal, they didn’t hurry eating, and Chakotay was pleased to see Kathryn finish her dish. She stood and took the empty packs to the recycler. “Thanks for the dinner, Chakotay. I’m surprised, though. I thought you preferred vegetarian meals,” she said when she returned to the table.

“My people have a long tradition of vegetarianism, but I very much doubt there was any real chicken in this dish.” He put a small ration pack on the table. “Speaking of traditions, I got you a dessert,” he said in the most innocent tone he could master. “It’s your birthday after all.”

“Chakotay! I…” She put a hand to her brow. “My thinking hasn’t changed since this morning. The Krenim threat is still out there. We must conserve all the energy and resources we can.” Then, her eyes narrowed. “That’s why you were shaving with such an antiquated razor, wasn’t? You planned all this.”

Despite his resolution, he squirmed under the growing glare. “I gave Ayala my shaver after he broke his a week ago. When I saw him in the mess hall this evening, I reminded him he owed me one.”

“Why?” She wasn’t asking about Ayala.

He shrugged. “I’ve never marked your birthday before. Please. I understand you can’t have a party, but it’s only one ration dessert.”

“That’s not the point.” She pushed herself against the back of her chair, arms folded across her chest. “You don’t even celebrate your own birthday.”

“It’s not a custom my people observe, that is true. We prefer to celebrate important milestones instead. Birth, the time of naming, puberty, marriage. On my birthday, though, I do like to reflect on what the previous twelve months brought me.”

She winced. “The more our journey lengthens, the less I find anything to celebrate in my life. It feels more like yielding to the never-ending toil of having survived yet another year.”

“A celebration can also be about welcoming the new,” Chakotay said softly. He was surprised and concerned at her candour. She was not one to be so open about her state of mind even in the worst of times.

She leaned over the table, reaching for the pack which she turned in her hand. “And that fills me with even more dread. I have many regrets about the past, but it’s the future that worries me most, Chakotay. Look at what the Krenim went through today. What is the point in seeking a future if you are thrown way back into the distant past instead? The future you’ve tried hard to forge, let alone hoped for, completely disappears. A different present is re-written in a fraction of a second. What if people we know, people we care about now vanish into thin air, and we’ll never remember they even existed?”

Chakotay dipped his head. He would have loved to spend hours discussing the nature of time with Kathryn, but he didn’t want the evening to turn into a full-blown debate which would only fuel her ruefulness. “I won’t pretend to understand what’s going on with the Krenim, but I can assure you that I’ll be with you at every step of the way. Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. Today, though, is your birthday, and I would like you to have this.”

She looked ready to protest once more, so he took the pack out of her hand, opened the lid, and pushed the container towards her.

“I believe it’s also customary to share the birthday cake.” Taking his spoon, he cut through the thick cream. “It’s a coffee panna cotta,” he said, bringing a slice of the dark dessert to his mouth.

She licked her lips at the word ‘coffee’, and their spoons met as he went for a second serve.

**Author's Note:**

> With a nod to [that shaving scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EA3LPt83QAc) between Bond and Moneypenny in Skyfall.
> 
> My thanks to KaCole for the quick beta!


End file.
